


Best Practices

by louciferish



Series: Business AU [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Corporate, Business AU, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Rivalry, Shower Sex, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 15:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17645621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: “Is it just me,” Victor asks, too quiet for the sound to carry beyond their bubble. “Or did you just challenge me up there?”Yuuri smirks, answering at a whisper and forcing Victor to lean closer to catch his words. “Don’t I always challenge you, Mr. Nikiforov?”





	Best Practices

**Author's Note:**

> The last of my smut prompts: "Business AU! The next time they’re at a conference together 😏"
> 
> I thought this wound up more M than E, but if you think it needs to be re-classified, let me know.

Yuuri’s knuckles are white against the smooth wooden surface of the podium as he waits, taking slow, staccato breaths as Phichit talks, enthusiasm bubbling through his voice as he rambles on about the technical specifications of the platform. Yuuri isn’t listening to the words; he’s heard them in rehearsal a thousand times already. Instead, he’s focused on the many faces in the crowd, scanning for reactions.

The conference organizers already had to drag extra chairs into the small ballroom they’d shoved Ciao Co. into, but still the place is packed. Most chairs are filled, and a few more attendees linger against the back wall, standing. The double doors crack open, the latch audible in the silence as Phichit finally pauses for a breath, turning to check in with Yuuri on their time. 

A familiar silver head pokes through the open door, and the tension floods from Yuuri’s body. He releases his death grip on the podium and straightens his back, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“As you can see,” he says, gesturing to the statistics and infographics on the screen behind him. “Ciao Co. is not just on its way to developing the best platform in the market today, we’ve already achieved it.” 

Yuuri stares out over the audience, looking nowhere in particular, but his attention is focused, honed on a single slim, dark-suited figure leaning up against the back wall of the hotel ballroom. He continues, waiting for his words to reach their target. 

“In tests, we’re already demonstrating a higher level of accuracy than N-Corp’s latest update, with the same data. At this point, the only disparity between the biggest platform available and ours is the sheer size of their database. Our new contributors will be taking a risk, but the reward, we believe, is well worth it.” Even from across the room, Yuuri can see Victor’s eyes narrow when Yuuri calls him out. 

Good.

Celestino stands again at that point, thanking the attendees for coming to their presentation, and the crowd applauds politely as Yuuri begins to unhook his computer from the hotel systems and make way for the next group coming into the room. 

A few attendees have gathered at the side of the podium, waiting to ask follow-up questions and hand him business cards, and Yuuri works his way through the necessary glad-handing, juggling his laptop until Phichit pops over to put it away for him. Yuuri slips the last card into his front pocket and looks up to find only Victor waiting, hand outstretched like anyone else to congratulate him.

Their palms slot together like a knife sliding back into its sheath, and Victor clasps his other hand over both. There’s a little edge to his even, white-toothed smile, and though he keeps a proper distance between their bodies, Yuuri can feel the walls closing in, pushing them together.

“Is it just me,” Victor asks, too quiet for the sound to carry beyond their bubble. “Or did you just challenge me up there?”

Yuuri smirks, answering at a whisper and forcing Victor to lean closer to catch his words. “Don’t I always challenge you, Mr. Nikiforov?”

Their eyes spark when they meet, lines of tension raising from their joined hands. Neither one has taken so much as an untoward breath, and yet the air around them is sharp, metallic. Victor’s grip on their hands tightens, and Yuuri takes a deep breath.

Behind Victor, someone clears their throat. 

They both turn to find a beanpole of a man in a lopsided bowtie watching them, almost vibrating with obvious nerves. “Excuse me, Mr. Nikiforov, sir-?”

Victor lets go of his hand, and Yuuri glances down at his phone. There’s another presentation he wanted to see in three minutes, in a conference room two floors up. He glances at Victor again, but the young man who wanted to speak to him is still attempting to stammer out his question, and Yuuri can’t wait. He shoulders his laptop bag and strides for the doors, rushing to get to his next appointment. 

-

The conference schedule is packed, as usual. In the end, Yuuri has to sneak out the back door of the last presentation he wanted to attend as soon as Q&A begins. There’s a cocktail mixer still to come, and Yuuri will need all the down time he can get to freshen up and relax before tackling that particular mountain. 

He hurries back up to his hotel room, looping around a side hall to avoid running into anyone with a conference badge. As soon as the door closes behind him, Yuuri sags against it, letting his laptop bag drop to the floor and closing his eyes in relief.

Something tugs at his neck, and Yuuri looks up to find Victor staring back at him, smirking as he slowly winds Yuuri’s tie around his hand, pulling him forward. Yuuri goes. He lets Victor reel him in as always, only to turn them both, angling Yuuri back until his shoulders meet the wall by the bathroom.

“How long have you been waiting for me?” Yuuri asks as Victor closes in, his breath hot on Yuuri’s cheek when he answers.

“Too long.” To prove the point, he removes the last space between them and presses his hard-on in the well of Yuuri’s hip. “You left me hanging earlier.”

“Not my fault,” Yuuri says. He has to look away from Victor’s magnetic blue eyes if he wants to keep up the front of being unaffected. “You’re popular. I’m busy.”

Victor makes a frustrated noise, just on the edge of whining. He’s cute when he pouts. 

Yuuri can’t resist looking now, smiling at the way Victor’s lower lip sticks out. They both know the steps in this dance so well. With gentle fingers, Yuuri tilts Victor’s chin down, leading him into a kiss. 

They can play whatever games they like, but neither can keep their feelings out of a kiss, and this one is scorching. Victor falls into Yuuri, pinning him entirely to the wall as Yuuri’s hand slides up to tangle in his hair, holding him fast as he slips his tongue over Victor’s tempting lower lip. With a sound of smug satisfaction, Victor grasps at Yuuri’s clothes, wrinkling his shirt and likely rumpling his suit beyond wear as he fumbles to tug Yuuri’s shirttail free from his waistband.

Turning his head, Yuuri tries to pull away, but Victor only turns his attentions to mouth at Yuuri’s throat instead.

“I need to get ready,” Yuuri insists. He tries to sound firm, but it comes out breathy and amused. Victor whines in disapproval, his blunt teeth scraping at Yuuri’s neck. 

“I have to go to this mixer, Victor.” Victor’s fingers pop the last button on Yuuri’s shirt, and he rucks up the fabric, warm hands tracing over Yuuri’s belly. 

“Victor,” Yuuri groans. His head thumps back into the wall, and his breath hitches as Victor presses his advantage, finding the sensitive spot in the curve of Yuuri’s jaw. “Some of us aren’t CEOs. I still need to network here.”

Reluctantly, Victor withdraws. Before he can slip away, Yuuri seizes the lapels on his suit, holding him hostage. “Actually,” Yuuri murmurs, eyes sliding toward the open bathroom door beside them. “I should probably shower before the event - don’t you think?”

“Oh, definitely,” Victor agrees, grinning. “You’re extraordinarily dirty today.”

Yuuri has to laugh at the cheesy line and shakes his head, but he takes Victor’s hands in his and pulls him into the bathroom.

They strip out of their suits as they wait for the water to warm, and Yuuri tries to hide his smile in his shoulder, watching Victor trip over his pants in his eagerness to get them both naked. In minutes, Victor’s three-piece Armani is nothing but a rumpled pile of cloth on the bathroom floor, and Yuuri _loves_ that, can’t help but appreciate these moments when Victor wants him so badly that he gets careless with nice things.

Yuuri takes his time folding his pants, stepping close to Victor as he hangs his blue blazer on the hook behind the bathroom door. He’s careful with it, deliberate in each moment as Victor stands so close beside him, naked and wanting, his lake-blue eyes tracing each of Yuuri’s movements. 

He’s so patient. But the moment Yuuri removes his socks, Victor’s patience snaps. He scoops Yuuri up in his arms and carries him like a conqueror for a whole three steps before depositing them both in the tub.

They fold back into each other’s arms as the hot water rinses the chill from their skin. Yuuri’s feet fit perfectly between Victor’s in the base of the tub, and he tilts his head back for another kiss as the water sluices over their bare bodies.

As showers go, it’s certainly ineffective. Soap is present, but the slide of lathered hands over muscle is more about touch and tension than hygiene. Victor’s fingers linger in the well at the base of Yuuri’s spine and trace the curve of his ass, while Yuuri’s well-soaped hands find Victor’s nipples, tickling that flesh until Victor shudders and rocks against him.

The others at the event may not appreciate this brand of clean, but Yuuri does - their gasps and sighs echoing off the bathroom tile as each of them takes the other in hand, the sweet pull of pleasure along Yuuri’s spine, his toes curling against the cool porcelain of the tub as he muffles his own voice against Victor’s shoulder. 

Victor, shameless, makes no such effort, and his voice reverberates off the shower walls when he comes.

Rinsing away the last of the soap along with the evidence, they take turns washing each other’s hair, which Yuuri thinks must be the most hedonistic part of this day. It’s an indulgence they don’t have time for, but there’s too much pleasure in this level of care to resist.

When the water begins to sputter and cool, Yuuri turns off the tap as Victor steps out to dry off. After tossing his own towel onto the floor, Victor picks up another and holds it open, waiting until Yuuri climbs out of the shower and back into his arms, where he folds the fluffy white towel around Yuuri like a robe. Victor’s hands move briskly, dabbing at Yuuri’s wet skin until Yuuri laughs.

“I can dry myself, you know.”

“Of course,” Victor says mildly. “But why should you, when I want to do it for you?” Before Yuuri can protest again, he kneels at Yuuri’s feet, patting the soft towel along his legs and down to his feet, lifting each in turn to dry them completely as Yuuri, face aflame, steadies himself on the empty towel rack.

With the tension in the air fading, Yuuri always finds these things more embarrassing than arousing, but he can’t deny the love Victor puts into it, and he’s languid enough from the afterglow to let it happen.

That euphoria is short-lived, though, and soon Yuuri feels the first stirrings of discomfort at Victor’s position. Yuuri reaches down and catches Victor by the chin, guiding him up, and Victor comes to him easily, just as content to drop the towel and lean in for another fond kiss.

“Okay,” Yuuri murmurs, eyes still closed, lips millimeters from Victor’s. “I do actually need to get dressed for the mixer now.”

When Yuuri opens his eyes, he sees Victor’s sparkling back. “I could dress you too,” he teases. “I should get more practice going in that direction.”

Yuuri pretends to consider it for a moment. “No,” he says. “You’d just get distracted and take too long. We’re already going to be late.”

“Fashionably late!” Victor leans back in, but Yuuri dances away, squirming past him to get to the room.

Yuuri stops by the hotel closet, considering the options hung out for them, their things intermingled. Victor comes up behind him, fingers sliding around his bare waist, and he rests his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder.

“If you want to help,” Yuuri says. “You can chose my tie.”

Victor drops a kiss in the hollow of his collarbone and steps forward to check the selection. “Any particular preference on color?” he asks.

Yuuri pretends to consider it. “No,” he answers at last. “But _you_ might hope for a softer one later.”

Victor’s hands pause, lingering over the ties, and Yuuri turns away, hiding the heat in his cheeks as he buttons his shirt.


End file.
